


Pumpkin Spice

by cafeanna



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Fluff, KuroKuratober, M/M, coffee shop AU, fake dating au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:29:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26769529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cafeanna/pseuds/cafeanna
Summary: “This guy I went on a date with a while back is here and I’ve sort of been ignoring him because he’s an asshole, so could you please?”A brow lifted. “Please what?”“Please pretend to be with me, so maybe he won’t bother me?”OR, Kurapika runs into his ex and asks a stranger to pretend to be with him.
Relationships: Kuroro Lucifer | Chrollo Lucifer/Kurapika
Comments: 45
Kudos: 411
Collections: you shine so brightly i must look away





	Pumpkin Spice

**Author's Note:**

> It was 8/27when I came across KuroKura fanart and I've never looked back. So, naturally, I have to write a fic. It’s my civic duty. Also, the KuroKura Prompt List seiyuna put out is super cute!
> 
> This is a quick fic while I remedy out their personalities, y’know? Just get into the groove of writing for a new pairing. I always do a shitty one-shot before I catch my stride with new characters.

In retrospect, Kurapika should have known better than to bring his date to his favorite coffee shop.

Normally, as he had a way of doing these things. He would have suggested he and his date meet at some generic chain for first meetings; public places with lots of witnesses that, should the date go awry, he would never have to go back to.

However, with his last foray into the dating scene, he had been too caught in the moment of an actual conversation to remember his rules. He had been too quickly swayed, had jumped the gun, and introduced the guy to his favorite place because he was _new to the city_ and _looking for local spots_ and _why don’t you pick?_

Kurapika felt the low swing of disgust in the pit of his stomach whenever he thought about his texts with Tserriednich. Even more so when he thought of their _actual date,_ which Kurapika had ended abruptly after sending an S.O.S to Melody to get him out of it. The awkwardness of which left him with several unanswered texts on his phone, and two unopened picture messages on his Snapchat, which he would _not_ be opening.

Which now, leads him now to the dilemma. 

Kurapika was standing in the queue of said coffee shop, sending a _last chance for coffee_ texts to Neon before they met up when a familiar blond head caught his sight.

It was Tserriednich, of course. He was wearing another one of his cream-colored coats, expensive and plush, his eyes grazing over the outside menu as if he had not scrutinized it the week before.

Kurapika knew he was staring, but the moment felt a touch _too_ surreal for him to actually process. He had had his guard up all week at work, dodging out of offices and conference rooms; doing the absolute most to avoid Tserriednich in his natural habitat where he reigned supreme.

Now, however, Kurapika felt like he was in a fishbowl, staring out into the world and Tserriednich peering in, having yet unknowingly caught his prey. He was on the phone, seemingly talking at nothing with that self-important air about him that just _bristled_ against Kurapika’s humble upbringing.

Then, his eyes slid across the glass to meet his.

The moment locked.

He and Tserriednich looked at each other and, for one blissful moment, Kurapika was sure that he did not recognize him outside of his usual work attire. Then, a slow smile of recognition. Kurapika felt his hands go numb as Tserriednich raised his hand in greeting and then lifted one finger, indicating that he would only be a moment. 

Something clattered to the floor by his feet.

Panic seized his spine and Kurapika purposefully snapped his gaze forward. His mind tearing through options ranging from calling Neon or hiding out in the single restroom until Tserriednich left. Noble options, _available_ options, but sometime about Tserriednich made him want to bolt out the door and take-off through downtown. The more he thought about it, the more his brain turned to mush.

His mind was a four-way stop of traffic lights all blinking red, then—

“Uh, your phone?”

Kurapika blinked up and realized a phone— _his_ phone—was hovering at the edge of his vision. In a pale hand, blue-veined, disappearing into the dark coat of the tall man in front of him in the queue. Kurapika followed the arm up, staring at him—the fine, handsome face, sloped nose and dark eyes—and made, what he hoped, was an apologetic smile.

Numbly, he accepted his phone. Wires crossing in his head.

“I’m sorry but, uh,” Kurapika sighed, throat heavy as an idea formed in his head, foggy but sharp. The man paused, already half-turned away. “Actually, could I—could _you_ pretend to be with me for a moment?”

The man’s expression pinched over his shoulder. “Pardon?”

Kurapika’s stomach rolled. Confidence drying, he was about to execute the plan before it took shape, but instead he cleared his throat to speak up. “This guy I went on a date with a while back is here and I’ve sort of been ignoring him because he’s an asshole, so could you please?”

A brow lifted. “Please what?”

“Please pretend to be with me, so maybe he won’t bother me?”

The man’s silence was long, contemplative, and then, “What’s in it for me?”

Despite the rudeness of the question, Kurapika perked. “I’ll pay for your coffee.”

A shrug. “I have money.”

“Well—” The bells above the door chimed and his stomach dropped. Kurapika knew without looking that Tserriednich was making his way over. He could feel the weight of his stare the moment he passed the threshold. His tongue felt heavy. “Fine,” he mumbled, “fuck me then. Have a nice day.”

He stepped back from the man, effectively ending the conversation, and counted down the seconds to his demise. He tucked his phone into his pocket, a buzz went off letting him know Neon had finally texted him back. Maybe he could use that?

Last chance to duck out of line and then, “Kurapika, I thought that was you.” Blond hair, brown eyes. The cultured voice of someone who was used to giving orders, used to getting what he wanted.

Tserriednich was classically handsome in the way of princes and kings. The sort of beauty that was uplifted and, for no true reason, was associated with goodness. Tserriednich only ever _looked_ friendly with engaged eyes and rolling questions, but the river didn’t run too deep.

Kurapika threw a bland, tight-lipped smile towards him. “Hey, Tserriednich.”

“I haven’t seen you all week.” Kurapika read his body language, the tilt of his shoulders as he leaned in, as if for an embrace and Kurapika stepped back, shoulder bumping against the stranger’s. He threw an apology over his shoulder, barely a mumble.

“Yeah, sorry. I’ve been busy.”

“Did you get my messages?”

Just as Kurapika was figuring how to maneuver out of _that,_ an arm came around his shoulder and tugged him snug into the crook of the stranger’s side. His pulse raced, a hand extended past his vision and a voice, clipped and cutting as before. “Hi, I’m the new guy.”

Kurapika counted back the seconds. His pulse racing in his throat.

_What the fuck—_

Tserriednich looked just as thrown as he was. A furrow appearing on his impeccable brow. “Oh.” He said, muse tipping upward and then down. His eyes slid to Kurapika’s again, almost daring. “I am sorry. I didn’t realize you were with someone.”

He sounded, almost, offended.

He pointedly ignored the hand extended to him, but turned his gaze back up to Kurapika’s savior, carrying on, “Kurapika and I are old fr—”

“—we had _one_ date.”

Tserriednich’s eyes snapped to his again, as if chastening him for interrupting, but his ire was short-lived.

At Kurapika, anyway.

“Oh, really?” The man drawled, as if mocking Tserriednich’s tone. His fingers tapping against Kurapika’s shoulder.

The stranger was not much taller than him, but when Kurapika looked back at his expression, his head was reclined back against his shoulder, peering up. The stranger had a crunched brow, faux confusion clear on his face. He peered down at Kurapika and then to Tserriednich again. Glances exchanged like words. “He never mentioned you.” 

Kurapika could feel the weight of the blow even though it was not meant for him.

The words were sharp, layered with _intent._ The cut pulled at the corners of Tserriednich’s mouth. It was slight—a blink and you miss it—but the crack in Tserriednich’s impenetrable armor worked like a fissure; spidering up the façade.

His brow crunched, dark gold drawing together. His head tilted. “Well,” he sighed, offense baying under the low, grating drawl. His eyes were on Kurapika again. The faint, muddled waters of _accusation_ shimmering beneath. “ _You_ certainly move on fast.”

Kurapika absorbed the insult and swallowed it whole. Tension laced down his spine, pulling taut, and the hand on his shoulder shifted in kind. He was about to retort, to _tear Tserriednich a new one,_ when the arm lancing his shoulders fell away.

For a wild, frightful moment, Kurapika thought the stranger might have pulled away, deciding that the situation was too much, and embarrass him further in the long run, but the weight and warmth of the arm returned against his back, bracing him; hand sliding low against the cut of his hip.

It pulled him fuller into the curve of the stranger’s body. It was possessive kind of hold. It made a _statement_. And with it, the deliverance, “Well, moving on is easy to do when its with the right person.”

It didn’t cut into the crux of Tserriednich, not like before, not like Kurapika would have. Tserriednich was a creature of pride, his weaknesses were just as easily his strengths. However, self-image, even in a crowd of unknowns, fell to a hairline second.

And they were drawing eyes.

From the patrons in line, the baristas behind the counter, the groups poised at tables.

Proud, proud Tserriednich Hui Guo Ruo throwing a hissy-fit in a café over an intern who didn’t _want him._

Outwardly, Tserriednich’s expression had not changed, but Kurapika could see it in his face. The tips of his ears were burned red. Lips pulled back tight against his teeth. “Well then,” That same baying voice continued, chipping at the ends, bustling as he adjusted the cuff of his coat. “I must be going now. Busy day and—” The stranger made a frustrated noise.

“ _Bye_.”

Kurapika bit his tongue to keep from speaking, too shocked to move.

Tserriednich’s lips parted, then closed.

And with that—no quipping remarks, no half-whispered threats, no snide looks—Tserriednich turned, and retreated back the way he came, joining the end of the line.

Kurapika sighed in relief.

“What a marshmallow.” He could feel the stranger’s laughter against his side, childish and giddy. Kurapika craned his neck to look at him.

“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t think he would try to engage with you.”

“It’s nothing.” The man mused, eyes flicking over his head towards the door again. “It livened up my morning. So, thanks for that.” A flash of teeth.

Kurapika shifted in his hold, the secure band of muscle circling his back. He almost leaned into him, the smell of cologne and early mornings, rising from the folds of his jacket. He felt his chest growing tight.

“Could you, uh,” he paused, realizing he never got the man’s name. “I’m sorry.”

“Kuroro.” The man supplied, easily.

“Kuroro,” he repeated, taking care over the syllables, “I’m Kurapika.”

“Yeah, I picked up on that.” That smile again. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Kurapika mumbled, eyes glancing to the scarf hanging loose around his neck. It had a spider-pattern. Orange and purple. Seasonal, but tacky paired with the suit and the fleece overcoat. “Could you take your hand off my hip, Kuroro?”

Kuroro made a humming noise, almost contemplative. “Hm, are you sure? He’s still at the end of the line. Seething into his phone.”

Kurapika’s brow crunched, but he did not dare look back. The last thing he wanted was to give Tserriednich any unnecessary attention. Best to keep up appearances, he supposed. “Take my hand, then?”

They shifted apart a step, the hand on his hip falling away before sliding into his own, fingers intertwining. Kurapika felt the moment Kuroro decided it, his hand curling to cup his palm and then fingers digging between the spaces of his own, slotting his hand against his.

His hands were much larger than Kurapika’s. Warm, but surprisingly callous. The ridge of his thumb sliding across the angle of his pointer finger felt almost indecent.

He swallowed, thickly. “What changed your mind?”

“He looked like he was going to eat you whole.” Kuroro said simply. “I could either watch the train wreck happen, or intervene. Why’d you date him?” Kuroro prompted as they moved up the line.

Kurapika dipped his head, ashamed.

He had half a mind to lie, feign that his relationship with Tserriednich, however fleeting, was the product of some blind date, or a set up among friends, or even a match on a dating site, but he didn’t see the point. Kuroro was still a stranger to him and, with the pull and shift of the city, Kurapika would probably never see him again. “He . . . he works in the department above mine. He just transferred in from another branch.”

Kuroro’s nose crinkled, just barley. “I’m guessing he asked you?”

“Yup,” Kurapika said, popping the _p_ with as much zeal as he could muster and tried his hand at Tserriednich’s signature drawl _._ “Because I’m ‘far too intelligent and pretty for grunge work’.”

“Awe, he was going to make you his trophy husband.” Kuroro cooed at him, laughter tugging at his mouth again. “You should have played him for a bit, _at least._ ”

Kurapika wrinkled his nose this time. “Not my thing.”

“I can respect that.”

When the finally made it to the front of the line and put in their orders—black coffee for Kurapika and pumpkin spice for Kuroro—and the barista gave them their total, Kurapika remembered his side of the agreement.

“Wait, let me buy your coffee, at least. You really helped me out.” He was about to let go of Kuroro’s hand to reach for his own wallet, but Kuroro was much faster and, with his free hand, tapped his phone against the card reader. The transaction chirped happily at him.

“Don’t even worry about it, Kurapika, you’re too much fun.”

Before he could focus too much on _that_ , Kuroro tugged him down to the other side of the counter to wait for their orders. They hovered in a pocket of space in the crowd, sidled up together as if Kuroro still had his arm around him. Kurapika could not help but feel nervous again at the proximity.

His eyes sliding over the seating area stewed with coats filling up the low chairs and couches, and the bookshelves crammed up against the back wall. Anywhere but the line that snaked closer and closer to the end.

Kurapika dared a glance over his shoulder, but looked away quickly when he spotted a prism of blond hair.

Kuroro’s hand flexed in his grip. “So, this is your favorite place?” He asked, almost in his ear.

“Hm?”

“Do you come here a lot?”

Kurapika squinted at him. “Are you asking me if I come here often?” Kuroro’s expression was perfectly innocent. He didn’t believe him. “Is that your line?”

Laughter, the first the day, cracked from his lips.

His fake boyfriend was _flirting_ with him.

“You got me,” Kuroro flashed those teeth again. Smile almost cheeky. The barista called out the name on their order and Kuroro’s attention lifted, his hand falling from Kurapika’s grasp. Kurapika tried not to feel too put out by the lack of contact, his warm palm turning quickly cool. He tucked it into his coat pocket, fingers curling in.

Kuroro leaned into his space once again, but grazing this time as he reached for the coffee on the bar. “So, do you?” He asked, pulling out a pen from his inner pocket and began to scratch something into the side of his cup.

“Do I what?”

“’Come here often’?” Kurapika felt his lips tip with a grin and fought the urge.

“Sometimes,” he relented. Despite the fact that he was, actually, _very_ territorial over his coffee shops. He reached for the other drink that appeared on the bar with their order, side-stepping to give other people access. His gaze never leaving Kuroro’s. “When its not as crowded and I can read. You?”

“I’m a wanderer.” Kuroro admitted, hand tucking into his coat again. Kurapika tracked the motion with a skeptical eye, warming his palms against the cardboard cup. “I usually wind up making my own.”

He took a sip of his drink for a lapse in the conversation, trying to construct what to say next when he got a mouth-full of too sweet whipped cream and cinnamon sugar. The underscore of burning-hot coffee tasted like magma on his tongue, but the realization was all the same. “I think I grabbed someone else’s drink.” He admitted, tongue stinging.

Kuroro lifted his brows, amused. “Apologies,” he said, swapping out his cup for Kurapika’s. He expected him to take out the pen again, but when he didn’t the moment settled.

Then, stretched.

Kuroro smiled at him, pleasantly.

“You don’t seem like a pumpkin spice kind of guy.” He said, just for something to say.

“Maybe I would be,” Kuroro said, sound almost wistful. “If you got to know me.”

He was not expecting that, even though the wind-up was there. Kuroro was light and flirty, but it floored Kurapika all the same with the implication and the too-innocent smile on his lips when he kissed his coffee lid to take a drink.

Kurapika felt something stirring in his gut, but tamped down on it. Hard.

“I am flattered,” he said, slowly, letting the words unspool with his anxieties. “But I’m not really meeting new people right now.”

Kuroro’s smile remained intact, lips kneading against the lid before he sighed, “Shame.”

The instant of relief was both a comfort and exhausting. Kurapika was frowning, in spite of himself, picking like a needle over his words and Kuroro’s. He was happy, however, that Kuroro did not make him feel bad for the brush-off, but his causal demeanor was something different. Too lax, too forgiving.

Their time together was coming to a close even faster now.

Kurapika felt his phone buzzing again in his pocket. Neon’s litany of texts going unanswered. He would have to say goodbye soon. Good-bye, thank you, and then never see each other again. He felt a little sad at the fact. Remedying up something to say, his eyes glanced to the side, where the line had eased with the rush, but found only a blonde woman at the end of the line. Tall and composed, but not Tserriednich.

Against his better judgement, Kurapika glanced behind him and found Tserriednich was nowhere in sight.

“He’s gone.” Kurapika turned his head to Kuroro to gauge his reaction, but Kuroro’s expression was almost purposefully blank, eyes rounding with innocence. Kurapika prickled. “How long has he been _gone_?”

Kuroro shrugged, same as before, but this time his lips peaked. “What can I say? It’s easy to do when it feels right.” He lifted his cup to tap it against Kurapika’s. His eyes full of mirth. “But, give me a call if you need to dodge your exes again. Or,” He rolled the word around his mouth. “If you feel like meeting new people.”

And with that, the stranger, his savior, brushed by and out the door.

Kurapika stood for a moment, marooned before the realization hit him. His cup. The pen.

_No fuckin’—_

Kurapika pulled the sleeve off of his coffee, the cardboard burning hot against his skin as he eyed the curvy script. Kuroro’s phone number bracketed in a scrawl of loopy hearts.

-

**Author's Note:**

> ah yes, fluff. My mortal enemy.
> 
> Have I often pretended to be with someone else when I see my exes? Yes. Because they’re crazy and annoying and I question my own judgement most harshly.
> 
> But, my first KuroKura! I have a couple more serious fics for them (most of which fall in line with seiyuna’s prompt list. Suits included. And my travel fic that I keep talking about) but I kinda wanted my first fic to be simple so I could get a gauge on personalities and back-and-forth. Judge me in the comments. Please.
> 
> Originally, Kuroro was going to do more with the “fuck me then” line but I bitched out.
> 
> Sidenote head canon: Kuroro frequents no cafés too often bc he steals his drinks from the order bar and hopes he likes it. That’s how he became a PSL hoe.
> 
> -cafeanna


End file.
